Demolition Lovers
by learninghowtobreathe
Summary: John and Sherlock's new client turns out to be Sherlock's ex boyfriend from uni. What will happen when they start dating again? And what John will do?
1. Chapter 1

**This takes place before Mary happened. Sorry ****not sorry****, it's just I really hate her. **

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, I just love Sherlock and John with undying devotion.**

**Title and chapters' titles come from My Chemical Romance's song "Demolition Lovers". Seriously though, it helds so many johnlock feels. Go and listen to it.**

**I regret nothing.**

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_**CHAPTER 1: **__**All We Are Is Bullets.**_

**Sweary John Watson is my favorite :)**

John was walking heavily up the stairs. He was fucking exhausted. Day on the surgery was a nightmare, taking a tub was one of his worst decisions ever and he got all soaked wet, not having an umbrella while caught by sudden downpour. He really watched for a quiet evening with crap telly and a cuppa, and deeply hoped that Sherlock would leave him in peace, or else he was pretty sure he will end up killing his brilliant flatmate with particular cruelty.

He opened the door to 221b, closed them, maybe a bit too fiercely, but he really _was _pissed off, and to his great discontent saw a client sitting in the chair. Sherlock was sitting on his usual place, fingers laced under his chin, eyes fixed on the young, handsome man. John eyed him suspiciosly. He was tall, it was hard to tell since he was sitting, but maybe even taller than Sherlock, fit, had dark, shiny hair combed fashionably on the side, and was dressed sharply, his suit well tailored and fitting perfectly. He looked like a slightly differentiated version of Sherlock, except his face was more delicate, and big eyes surrounded by long lashes held softer expression.

"We've got a client, great." Stated John sarcastically.

Sherlock looked at him sharply.

"John, this is Victor Trevor, my...acquaiatance from uni." Said detective blankly. "And indeed, we've got a case."

"Acquiatance?" Laughed Victor, and, John has to admit, his laughter was charming. What else to be expected from such a ideal man? John wasn't the one to be self-conscious, but suddenly when faced with not one but two extraordinaly _perfect _man he felt rather uneasy. "That's how you call me now, Sherlock? If my memory serves me we used to be much more than _acquiatances _back then."

He smiles, pure seduction painted on his face.

John winced, not quite believing his ears.

Sherlock pulled a face.

"Yes, indeed, I should rather refer to you as my ex." He said sourly.

"Don't be like that, we used to have such a great time together." Other man said, _winking_. _He fucking winked_. John was getting gradually more pissed at this man, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe his tiredness was speaking through him? Yeah, that was probably this. "Before you rather cruelly dumped me. You got bored, didn't you, Sherly?"  
"If you was so kind and not ever call me that again I would be very thankful." Says detective coldly, smiling like in spite of himself though. "Now lets get back to what brings you here as I highly doubt it's the sudden need to see me again."

"Don't be so modest, it doesn't suit you, dear." Victor says, smiling a smile John has no idea how to refer to apart of _sexy_. "I'm honestly _delighted _to see your pretty face again."

"Back to buissnes, if you please." Repeats Sherlock.

John feels the sudden need to throw something at the wall.

Well, it's not like he didn't realized his attraction to his flatmate before. He just simply refused to accept it. He _wasn't gay_, despite what everyone seemed to think. He dissmissed the fact he was getting a hard on seeing his flatmate covered only in sheet just like he was denying his every date since he moved in to 221b was a disaster, every girl scared away by detective or John himself. He also rejected the very though that he kinda gave up dating already. _He was not in love, very much not. _He was just irritated by this _whole fucking Victor _behaving like a sodding douchebag, that was all.

"So you've been blackmailed, yes?" Sherlock's voice brought John back from his thoughts, and he realized he was leaning by the doorframe whole time and saying nothing. So he sat wearily on his chair, but remained silent nonetheless.

"Yes. Some sick bastard keeps sending me these messages." Victor nodded. "You see, he said that if I won't give him money till next Saturday, world will see these pictures. And in position in which my job puts me I cannot afford such a humilitation. It would ruin me."

"Victor works for Mycroft." Detective spits his brother's name in with distaste, looking up at John. Then he looks back at Victor again. "And what exactly these photographs show?"

"Well." Victor's cheeks turned slightly red. "Me and Jeanette Winterson in...ambigous situation."

"_This _Jeanette Winterson?" John spoke for the first time, frowning. Sherlock looked at him with blank, unknowing expression on his face.

Of course, it was so alike him not to know a thing about woman being all over magazines and TV these days.

"Jeanette Winterson is a porn star." Explained John to him patiently, not looking at Victor but smirking inside. This git deserved it, deserved it all, John thought, still iritated. "Very popular now, and appearing on media almost all the time. She also does a bit of modelling I guess."

Sherlock raised his brow, somewhat amused.

"I see. And you have not the slighest idea, who's blackmailing you?" He asked Victor.

"No." He said. "That's why I'm coming to you. It was just one night stand, I wasn't even dating her, I was...well, I was high and it just somehow happened. Jesus, I'm not even straight!"

"That I realize myself." Said Sherlock coldly. "Have you got these messages with you?"

"Yes, I got them printed." Victor pulled papers from his briefcase and hesitantly handed them to the detective. Sherlock read them silently.

"Oh for God's sake, it's too easy! Style is coarse and she made at least three grammar mistakes. Furthermore, this was written in highly emotional state, the woman who wrote these emails to you was furious." Detective looked almost offended. "How can't you see that?! Why are people so STUPID?!" Exclaimed Sherlock, not paying the slighest attention to look of shock on John's and Victor's faces.

Victor looked at briliant detective with unsure look in his eyes. "Who is it, then?"

"It's Mrs. Winterson herself." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh come one, it's so simple!"

"Sherlock." John glared at him with warning.

Detective sighed dramatically.

"She was attracted to you, she seduced you, and then you rejected her. More, you told her you're gay. She got furious and decided to take revenge on you. Really, it was rather moronic from you to got these pictures taken."

"Well, I told you, I was high." Said Victor matter-of-factly. "You, among all people, should know I wasn't quite myself."

"I'm over that." Said Sherlock, looking at him indifferently.

"I heard so." Victor was back to his charming self. "So. What should I do?"

"You do nothing." Said detective impatiently. "We go and confront her. Do you have her adress?"

Young man recited the street and number without hesitancy.

"Ah, same brilliant memory." Mocked detective. "You really waste your talent, Victor."

"As I remember, you used to do exactly the same with your_ talent_." Smiled young man. "Really, we used to have so much fun together."

Sherlock ignored him, looking at John instead.  
"Come on, John, let's go." He said.

John decided this day couldn't possibly be worse, and buttoned up his jacket, following detective and Victor down the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

**WARNINGS: Lot's of swearing and very angry John :)**

**Enjoy! **

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_**CHAPTER 2: As Days Fade, And Nights Grow, And We Go Cold**_

Meeting with Jeanette Winterson went relatively well. She was so ruled by emotions -and drunk - that when confronted with the truth just burst into tears – and was rather scared about police knowing about everything, and John convinced her to stop blackmailing Victor with ease. She gave pictures back to them, still sobbing, and they left, John just tired and Sherlock with visible distaste.

"The only good thing is that your...friend" The world seemed to stuck in good doctor's throath. "will pay us. We really need money righ now."

Sherlock just shrugged, not saying a word. John was tempted to ask about Victor, he really was rather curious. He always imagined Sherlock was asexual and this new discovery not only surprised him but also made him kind of uncomfortable, and he wasn't sure why was that. But the detective didin't seem to be in mood for talking – and even if he was, the probability he would willingly tell John what he wanted to know was rather small. So John stayed silent instead, lost in his thoughts – and his hope to be home as soon as possible and _got some goddamn sleep. _Yeah, that would be rather nice.

When they reached 221b John just shrugged off his coat, and went straight to his bedroom, not bothering to say a word. He didn't even know why was he so irritated and unpleasant, but God knew he was putting up with Sherlock's mood swings so often that he deserved to have his _own _mood swing at least this one time. He just threw his clothes in a pile to the floor, and went to bed aming in going to sleep right away.

But he couldn't sleep. He kept seeing face of his _Victor _staring at Sherlock with this seductive smile and it was making him sick.

John spend whole night awake, trying in vein to fall asleep.

John woke up after an hour of disturbed sleep, angry, tired and feeling like he was hit by train. He eat his breakfast cursing, drank his coffee offending inanimate objects and took a cab to surgery murmuring profanities under his breath. He kept glaring at his patients with such hatred that caused couple of heart attacks and managed to yell at new nurse making her cry. In short, he behaved suspiciously like Sherlock for a whole day.

When he came home he was close to commiting homicide on an innocent human beings. He opened the door, finding the main room empty and flat silent, no sign of his infuriating flatmate. This irritated him even more, he hadn't the slightest idea, why, so he kicked the wall, and proceeded to make himself tea, almost breaking his cup. At the point when he sit in his chair, sipping on his tea, he was a bit calmer.

Not for long though. Couple of minutes later, buttoning his jacket, dressed in what John suspected was his finest suit, Sherlock emerged from his bedroom. Deective smiled at John and announced that he leves in his deep voice.

"Do we have a case?" John frowned. They solved the case yesterday, even if it was hardly any case. Sherlock should at this point be lying on the couch, shooting walls and yelling how bored he is. Not going out looking like an angel descending to earth.

John thought for a while about his choice of metaphore and realized that maybe it wasn't his best one. Well. Sherlock looked rather fantastic, though.

"No, we don't." Sherlock ruffled his hair, making John blush slightly. "I, however, have a date."

John choked on his tea.

"A date?" He blurted.

"Yes John, a date, don't make me repeat myself." Detective rolled his eyes. "That's when two people who like each other go out and have fun?" He quoted.

"With who?" John blinked in surprise, confronted with his own words.

"With Victor." Sherlock put on his coat and scarf. "Don't wait up."

He left and John heard him coming down the stairs, then closing the door. He sat in his chair, mouth agape, not sure if what he just saw really happened.

Hours passed and John was grew and more restless and uncomfortable. It was ridiculous. Not only Sherlock, fucking _asexual, _married-to-his-goddamn-work Sherlock had a sodding _date _while John gave up dating while ago cause of said detective, no, but also John was fucking _jealous_.

He was. He realized that. He was very much jealous. For God's sake his brilliant, beautiful, fucking fantastic genius of a flatmate had a date with another handsome, awfully good looking man, while he, John fucking Watson was stuck at home, apparently throwing a fucking tantrum. Fuck.

It was only 2pm when he heard the door open. He was sitting in his chair with a book he was pretending to read, and he was very much aware that he was behaving like a jealous wife, but sod it.

Sherlock entered the room with his eyes glowing, cheeks slightly pink and wet curls stuck to his forehead, and it seemed like he was walking in the rain. And he was smiling, John thought, he was fucking smiling.

"So." He tried to sound casually. "How was your date?"

"Fine." Detective hung his coat and shook his head. Drops of water went flying over his head. "You're awake."

"Not tired." John lied.

"Well, if you excuse me, I will go to sleep then." Said Sherlock, and turned away.

Gritting his teeth, John didn't notice bright smile playing on detective's lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**I forgot to say this whole fic is hopelessly un-bitpicked, so please forgive me. It's not like I asked to be from fucking Poland.**

**Also – more jealous John here! Enjoy :)**

**(And Sherlock here is totally my alter ego, cruel bastard as he is :p)**

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_**CHAPTER 1: I'm Trying To Let You Know Just How Much You Mean To Me**_

The night was fucking nightmare, just like the last one. John managed to fall asleep eventually, but just to wake up from a bad dream two hours later – a bad dream where _Victor sodding Trevor _was holding a gun and aiming it at Sherlock's chest. John woke up suddenly, with his flatmate's name on his lips and couldn't sleep till the morning. When his alarm went on he was almost relieved.

Downstairs, he found Sherlock standing over the window and playing some bittersweet – and really beautiful – melody John faintly remembered to hear before, but couldn't recall a name. Detective stopped once he saw his flatmate, and even smiled to him, what was a bit distressing when longer think about it. But John had none of it, ignored Sherlock, made himself coffee in absolute silence, and then went to surgery closing the door loudly behind him.

The whole day proceeded in the same manner, with good doctor slamming doors, almost yelling at patients and colleagues and making young nurse cry once again. But honestly, she really cried _a lot_.

In what could only be expressed as sudden surge of masochism he decided to take a tub home, and spend whole journey cursing people in his mind and staring at them with unrestrained anger in his blue eyes.

When he finally arrived home it started raining, so the fact that he managed to avoid getting wet made him feel better for a bit. Not for a long though.

By the door he almost collided with Sherlock, who was apparently leaving somewhere. They both stopped awkwardly, looking at each other, and John couldn't quite believe his eyes. Detective, who was just reaching for his coat, was wearing dark jeans and jacket with sleeves rolled up above his elbows with white t shirt underneath. His hair was combed back, and he looked so different from his usual self that John felt like he was somehow moved to the different reality.

"Er..." He stammered clumsily. "Is it...Do you have a case?"

Detective looked at him, visibly surprised. "No, why?" He asked.

"It's just you look...different." John tried not to blush, but the sight of his flatmate in this skinny jeans was doing something to him. He desperatelly tried not to stare. "Where are you going?"

"To the cinema." Stated Sherlock, like it was something he did everyday.

"You. Are going to _the cinema_?"

"Yes, John." Detective was looking at him innocently. "Problem?"

"You hate cinema." John tugged at his hair, absolutely hopeless. "You hate watching films! I can't even make you watch one episode of fucking TV series with me! It's 45 fucking minutes and you get bored after 5."

"Well, maybe I changed my mind." Detective shrugs.

John pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

"Just tell me it's not another date." He asked.

"Well it is." Sherlock looked curious. "Do you mind me going on dates, John? You always seemed rather keen on the idea of date itself."

"No. Of course I don't mind you going on fucking dates." John gritted his teeth. "Go and have fun. And say hello to fucking Victor from me."

Sherlock frowned. "You're jealous."

"No, Sherlock, I'm not jealous." John avoided his eyes. "I'm just irritated that my flatmate who used to be _married to his work _suddenly starts dating when I can't even meet anyone."

Sherlock looked at him for a while. "Yes, that too, but you're also obviously jealous."

"No I'm not, you git." John turned away and sit in his chair.

Sherlock casted him last long look and went out.

That was when John took an empty glass from the counter and threw it at the closed door.

John never was the one to substance abuse. He didn't smoke – well, he tried as a teenager as everybody does, but found it too disgusting – Harry's addiction was just enough for him not to ever drink more than pint or to, and he knew way too much about drugs to even try them.

Nonetheless, the first thing he did when Sherlock left – aside of breaking the glass – was drinking the whole glass of whisky. Then he went straight to sleep, absolutely knackered after two sleepless nights and his outbreak. Fortunately he fell asleep relatively fast and didn't dream about anything.

It was just when he woke up in the middle of the night that he realized something wasn't quite right.

Walls in 221b were thin and he heard everything what was happening downstairs. Which was lots of laughing and talking interuppted by moments of silence. Sherlock was home and he _wasn't alone_. It didn't took much to realize what was going on, and John felt slow, hot burn of fury washing through him. His _fucking oblivious flatmate_ was downstairs with _this goddamn Victor_ and he was about to _sleep with him_ while _completely oblivious_ – wait, wasn't it said yet? - about John's feelings. John felt like breaking something, preferably over Mr. Trevor's head.

He heard the doors close, then silence. And then bed creaking. Then voices, laughter again, and more creaking.

This was going to be a really long night, John realized, putting a pillow over his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**I just realized I don't know enough of english swearwords, at least certainly not for John's standards... Anyone willing to help? :)**

**Also, I have this headcanon that Sherlock says he loves John rather a lot, just like he says he is his best friend. I just feel he is the one who would need to hear confirmation. So yup, basically that's it.**

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**CHAPTER 4: ****_But This Time, I Mean It I'll Let You Know Just How Much You Mean To Me_**

John was right. It was a really long night. Probably the longest he ever experienced in his life, and honestly, he'd been through a lot of unending nights. He lay with pillow put over his head, changing position ever five second and uttering endless stream of profanities under his breath. Because, let's face it, angry John Watson was becaming rather sweary.

John really was trying not to think about what might have been happening downstairs. He tried no to think about Victor kissing Sherlock, about Victor tangling his fingers into Sherlock's lush curls, about Victor undressing Sherlock, about... But, well, he quite spectacularly failed in this matter. His imagination went wild. And he was becoming gradually more and more furious with every passing minute. And even more jealous.

He also tried to block all noises from reaching his ears, but it was impossible. He heard all this laughter, all this bed squeaking, all this hushed voices. And for very envious John Watson it all sounded like two people very much having sex.

It was almost dawning when John decided he can't stand lying in his bed restlessly, so he got up, took a shower, shaved and went back to his room. He paced back and forth for a while and finally settled over the window, staring at the falling rain. Hopefully, the noises from downstairs ceased when he was taking the shower.

He was getting tired of this shit. He had to do something. The thing was, there wasn't much to do. If only he acted on his feelings sooner. But whole problem was that he didn't quite realized his feelings earlier. Sure, he know, he had this, well _crush_ was probably the word, but he didn't grasp the fact his feelings were much deeper. Christ, he was _in love _with this madman keeping eyeballs in the microwave. And said madman was dating another man. Did he loved him? No, probably not. Why then was he interested in him? Was he using him for some insane purpose? But what purpose? Or maybe was he just simply attracted to him? Well, the fact that for two years of living together John never seen his flatmate dating anyone didn't have to mean anything.

But where did it put John? He was simply fucked.

Doctor hit his head over the cold glass.

He was such an idiot. What was he supposed to do now?

Three hours after John came downstairs to make himself tea. He phoned Sarah and called in sick, because he wasn't that insane yet and knew better than examining patients after three sleepless nights in a row. He felt terrible and probably looked even worse. He almost fell from stairs when coming down.

And he certainly wasn't prepared for the sight that welcomed him in main room, which was Sherlock, dressed in his blue robe, with mess of wild curls on his head, kissing – or rather being kissed – rather pasionatelly by Victor, who, on his side, looked immaculate as always.

John thought that probably his eyeballs will fall from their sockests and roll over the floor in a minute.

He cleared his throat loudly.

Victor let go of detective and _fucking licked his goddamn lips_ looking John straight into the eyes. _Fucking insolent bastard._ John's blood started to boil.

On his behalf Sherlock looked rather flustered, at least for himself. He blushed slightly and tried to tame his hair, though his eyes also didn't leave John's for even a second.

"Er... Hello." John said, sounding more sullen than he would like, and went to put on a kettle.

"I will go, then." John heard Victor saying to Sherlock. "See you in the evening."

"Yes." Detective said, and John, who turned just in that minute, saw him leaning and stealing quick kiss.

That somehow added insult to the injury. It was simply too much. John slammed the cup over the worktop, grabbed his coat and followed Victor down the stairs, leaving Sherlock startled and staring at the door.

John run down the stairs, closed doors behind him with all his force, and went the opposite side than Victor. He had this very strong feeling that if he followed him, he would end up inserting his fist straight into young man's nose. With force. And speed. And probably resulting in some broken bones.

So he went to the park instead. The day was grey and foggy, but it wasn't raining, so he decided to stroll a bit, and calm down. But after fifteen minutes he realized that it wasn't helping, he wasn't any calmer, just started to feel cold and unpleasantly damp.

John ended up in the nearby pub, drinking a pint, then another, and third, and getting a slightly tipsy, if not drunk. He knew it was stupid to drown his sorrow in booze, and so early before noon, but he was feeling rather miserable. He spend couple of hours in the pub, and then decided to go home and just catch up on sleep, hoping that walk and beer will make him fall asleep easier. He really, desperatelly even, needed the oblivion of good, long sleep.

What he didn't need was confronting Sherlock about his outburst from earlier in the morning.

And that is exactly what happened.

When John came to 221b he found his flatmate sitting on his chair, and apparently waiting for him, dressed in one of his suits and that purple shirt John always find himself fantasizing about him wearing. He has his arms crossed on his chest, making the buttons of shirt struggle not to pop out. John felt blush creeping onto his cheeks and cursed mentally.

"John." Detective spoke in charming, deep, velvety voice, and John was fairly sure he was doing it on purpose. "You're back."

"Er, yeah, I am." John stated awkwardly.

"And you were drinking."

"That's not your bloody interes." John felt in sudden need to defend himself. "It's not like you cared anyway."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "If I did something to offend you, I am sorry."

Now this was unexpected. Sudden apology caught John off the guard.

He thought for a moment, his mind a bit clouded by the alcohol he drunk. Now there was only one way in which he coul proceed, and it was telling Sherlock what he really felt.

But there was no going back from there. But anyway, was there anything else to do, really?

John thought bitterly that he probably should prepare himself for looking for a new flat soon.

He run his hands through his hair, feeling hopeless and lost. He took a deep breath.

He closed his eyes and...

"Oh, John, are you really that blind?" Asked Sherlock, sighing.

And John suddenly had a lapful of one certain consulting detective, and said detective was pressing his lips to John's.

It took few seconds to John's brain to catch on, but when he finally did, he kissed back with silent force, with all his hidden feelings, all his pain and anger he felt for last couple of days. He poured all his heart to this kiss, nipping at younger man's lips, making him moan silently, tangling his fingers into his hair and tugging gently.

Sherlock tasted like tea and cigarettes, and John unconsciously thought that he was smoking again and that he would have to talk to him about it, but then detective opened his mouth slightly, letting him in and his brain shut out. There was only touch of Sherlock's calloused fingers sliding over his cheekbone, his scent and his taste and whole world was spinning, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered now, only the two of them who finally found their way to each other.

When Sherlock pulled out lightly, in the need of air, John groaned a bit at the loss of sensation, but then detective lapped at his ear and murmured silently "It took you three days, John, three whole days. Have you any idea what I've been through?"

"What _you_'ve been through?" John laughed breathlessly. "Have you any idea what _I've been through_, Sherlock? It was fucking torture! Watching you with this asshole..."

Sherlock blushed slightly. "I know and I'm sorry. Maybe it wasn't the most brilliant of my ideas. But it worked."

"_You sodding git_, if I wasn't so happy I would punch you directly in the face." Said John affectionately.

"But John, don't you see?" Detective scowled. "I love you!"

John blinked and then smiled widely, kissing him lightly. "I love you too, you prat."

Sherlock kissed him then and they kissed and kissed until detective stood, still holding John tightly, and went to his bedroom, closing the door behind himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**So here it is, the last chapter! Thank you for all kudos, wonderful comments and for enjoying my story – I had way too much fun tormenting poor John :D**

**Follow my tumblr (l-earninghowtobreathe) for latest updates about new stories! I have quite a lot in mind :)**

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**CHAPTER 5: ****_I Mean This Forever_**

They lied in bed, snuggled in each other's arms, exchanging sweet, unhurried kisses, when it occurred to John that there was at least one thing that needed talking over.

"So the whole thing with Victor was just to make me realize my feelings?" He asked, curling one strand of Sherlock's hair over his finger.

"In short, yes." Sherlock looked at him almost apologetically. "But it worked!" He added, defending himself.

:Fine, fine, I'm not mad." John ruffled his hair. "It's hard to be mad after that spectacular orgasm."

Sherlock smiled smugly. John kissed that smile from his lips.

"I have one question though." Good doctor added. "Does he know how you used him?"

"You make it sound like it was something really _bad_." Detective said, sulking. He looked at his lover with huge, almost pleading eyes. John couldn't help but laughed.

"Well, it wasn't the most moral thing to do, that's for sure." He said. "But I guess he'll live. It's not like I liked him anyway."

Sherlock smiled widely. "I knew you would be sensible about it."

"So, does he know?"

"Well... I kind of broke up with him earlier." Detective shrugged. "Just after you left."

"Oh. Well. That's... okay."

"Now, can we stop talking about irrelevant issues?" Sherlock smiled mischievously and suddenly turned them both so he was on top of John. He kissed him fiercely, and John found himself unable to resist. He waited for this for so long.

Couple of months passed, witnessing their shared happiness, their occasional but rather spectacular fights, their passionate kisses and tender embraces, sex which made Mrs. Hudson sleep in earphones, John being kidnapped, Sherlock being concussed, both Sherlock and John catching quite vicious flu and finally them getting engaged on one beautiful, snowy day of early February.

Few days after, when they were coming home from Angelo's, walking slowly in falling snow, holding hands and talking quietly, they suddenly approached familiar figure walking quickly towards them.

They stopped, and so did Victor Trevor. He didn't changed since John last seen him, he just looked a bit paler and had dark circles under his eyes.

"Sherlock." He smiled politely, but it was cold smile. He was staring at their laced fingers, "Dr. Watson."

John felt rather uncomfortable – and _so, so triumphant_, and when Sherlock casted a glance at him, he saw that indeed his fiancé was a bit flustered.

"Er, hi." John tried not to smile too widely. "Nice to see you again."

"I suppose congratulations are in order?" Asked Victor coldly.

"Actually, yes." Sherlock was back to himself. He smiled smugly.

"I should have known better than try to date you again." Victor shook his head with bittersweet smile. "You never change, do you, Sherlock? You're always so _ice cold_."

"No." John wrapped his arm protectively around younger man. "He's not. And sorry, we need to go."

"Of course." Said Victor stiffly. "Excuse me."

They were almost out of the hearing range, but somehow John hear the words Victor spoke quietly to himself.

"I just should have known better than to love you."

And John felt bad for a while. But then they were home and Sherlock, who didn't hear Victor's words – or maybe heard, but just didn't say anything? - kissed him, and then they made love on the kitchen table _again _this week, and John forgot about everything,

After all, there were things he couldn't change, and he didn't want to change. And he was happy, they both were so unbelievably happy. So John didn't give a damn about Victor, and he forgot about him completely.

It was only when they were on the trip to Amsterdam on their 5th wedding anniversary, and walked slowly down Prinsengracht Street near Anne Frank's Museum and Sherlock spotted two dark figures

when John recognized him.

It was Victor, kissing tall, fair-haired young man on the verge of the channel.

And then, after 5 years, John smiled at the memory, and never thought about Victor Trevor again.

**THE END**

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**I kinda liked Victor, after all we all fallen for Sherlock just like he does... So I decided that he deserved his own happy ending :)**

**Thanks again for all support! I love you all 3**


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